


Thunder: Smut Continuation

by indigospacehopper



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Blindfolds, Bondage, But Sherlock loves it, Cock Cages, Cock Slut, Collars, Dark John Watson, Dom John Watson, Dom/sub, Gags, John is a Bit Not Good, M/M, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, Sounding, Sub Sherlock Holmes, probably not healthy but they love each other really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 10:38:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22549420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indigospacehopper/pseuds/indigospacehopper
Summary: “And sometimes I forget just how selfish you are, and just how much I give you every single day. So, this weekend we’re making a change. This weekend, it’s my turn to be greedy. I’m going to take exactly what I want. I’m going to do exactly what I want, because Christ knows, Sherlock, I deserve it.”
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 5
Kudos: 24





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote a fic called Thunder a while ago. Recently, one of my favourite singers (Love Fame Tragedy) released a song called ‘Please Don’t Murder Me (Part 2)’ and I guess it inspired me to smutify this fic. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy it!
> 
> (All chapters have already been written :))
> 
> \- indigospacehopper x
> 
> (Link to the old fic is here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20378125)
> 
> (Link to the song is here: https://youtu.be/0j7MVcjFV2I )

“Because you’ll never understand what it’s like.”

White horses crashed over the pebbles and ran towards John’s bare toes. They halted, then retreated into the murky depths from which they’d arisen. The wind picked up and with it more waves charged at the shoreline. Above them, thunder rolled across the dark sky, the cheering spectator of battle.

“John, I understand a lot more than you give me credit for. We’ve known one another for ten years and yet you’re always amazed at how much I know,” Sherlock told him, slightly exasperated but he endeavoured to keep his voice calm. 

He looked up at the darkening sky, squinting at a gull as it flew overhead. He sighed quietly, mustering any small amount of strength he had to greet John’s argument and compose his own without accidentally offending John more than he already had done that day. Sherlock turned to look back at John, then launched into his proposed execution of the brewing debate.

“You’re unhappy with me because I’m an unfeeling machine and therefore couldn’t possibly understand that, sometimes, people get sad or they become happy or they’re simply horny or they just need a hug,” Sherlock said. “I understand emotions, I have emotions. I would be a pretty awful detective if I couldn’t understand other people’s emotions; emotions are often the driving motive in crime.”

John couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

Behind Sherlock, far out to sea, lightning briefly illuminated the sky. John talked over the ensuing thunderclap.

“That’s not what I meant at all,” John bit back. “I’m unhappy with you because you’re an annoying, selfish, condescending prick.”

Sherlock blinked, taken by surprise by John’s straightforwardness.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. The problem is, Sherlock,” John step, taking a step towards Sherlock. Dry seaweed and shingle cracked under his feet. “That you’re constantly in my way. Earlier, when I was washing up, you were practically standing on my feet. You’re clingy. You’re so, so needy, and you expect the world to be handed to you on a silver fucking platter.” 

John hadn’t meant to lose his temper, but as his speech grew and as the storm clouds darkened and lightning and thunder moved closer to the shoreline something ugly became to grow inside him. It swarmed and grew in mass and all he could feel was a burning hatred from the man he loved so dearly. Maybe it was from the alcohol, his cheeks rosy from the whisky he’d been sipping by the fire. And Sherlock, sandwiched between John and the sea, was helpless in the tirade.

“I know you’ve always had everyone clean up after you. Mummy and daddy dote on their ickle Sherly the Curly, yeah, I know they used to call you that,” John added, after seeing Sherlock’s mortified face. “And Mycroft follows you around like a fucking shadow, dustpan and brush in hand ready and waiting to clean up your shit and soothe your lightly bruised ego. He thinks he’s in control, but you’ve got him wrapped around your little finger, haven’t you? And how long have I spent running around after you, hm?”

Sherlock scowled and made to walk past John.

John’s hand caught Sherlock’s elbow. He gripped it, hard. In this position John could easily manipulate Sherlock into an armlock and Sherlock felt his bones scrape as John tightened his grip. 

It hurt, a lot. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” John murmured; his voice as cold as the North Sea crashing against the rocks behind them. “Running away from your problems? Again?”

“There’s a thunderstorm and we’re by the sea,” Sherlock replied, keeping his voice level despite the lump which had formed in his throat. “I don’t fancy being struck by lightning today, do you?”

John’s eyes narrowed a fraction, and he released Sherlock’s elbow with such aggression that made Sherlock wish he’d just held on. Sherlock nearly stumbled as John pushed it away.

He wanted to nurse his elbow, help with the circulation a bit, but the rain was beginning to fall, and they had to get inside, back into the beach chalet.

“Come on,” Sherlock said, “before the rain really picks up.” 

Heavy rain swept across the sea, raindrops a grey swarm of locusts blocking the horizon as they hurtled towards the beach. 

John shook his head.

“Sherlock?”

Sherlock looked at him. “What?”

John took a deep breath, then shook his head and looked down. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, then unfurled themselves. Sherlock noticed that he was shaking. 

“I’m not the man you think I am.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes again. A gull laughed in the distance, perched on the roof of the beach chalet as the tide rolled closer.

“Of course, you are. John, this really is ridiculous. I know who you are, but I’m excited to hear your take and we really do have to go inside. You can have a midlife crisis inside just as well, if not better, than you can outside.”

Yet more lightning flashed across the sky and Sherlock skirted around John in a dash towards the chalet. He knew John would follow him, maybe to pulverise him but at least he didn’t run the risk of being struck by lightning. 

However, John didn’t follow him. He made no move to stop him, either. He hung his head, and as Sherlock halted, the stones beneath his feet grinding against one another as sandhoppers darted about around his feet, John began laughing.

“You’re such an idiot,” John told him, throwing his head back as he laughed at the sky. The thunder grumbled, chortling with him. “Oh, Sherlock. You’re so stupid.”

Sherlock frowned.

“I’m not.”

“You are.” John chuckled. “You’re a moron. And manipulating you was so easy, because everyone, and I mean everyone, hates you.” John turned to face him. “It was so easy to waltz into your life and pretend to be your friend, for just a little bit. And you lapped it up. Because you piss off everyone you meet. It’s sad, really.”

Sherlock could hardly register what he was hearing, but he knew that what he was being told paled in comparison to the bruise swelling on his arm.

“Pretend?” He asked quietly. “You’re my partner, John. You can’t pretend something like that.”

“You can,” John chuckled, “and I did.”

Sherlock glared at him.

“You’re being ridiculous,” he said, turning around to face the chalet. He began marching up the rocks towards it, not daring to look at John again. “Stay out here if you like. I don’t care.” 

By the time Sherlock had reached the front door to the chalet, John was at his side. Rain was falling hard now, soaking them both. With one quick motion John had Sherlock in an armlock, bending him over unceremoniously and pressing his cheek against the glass panel of the door. Sherlock made to throw John off, but John grabbed a fistful of Sherlock’s hair to hold him steady.

“Don’t start,” John grunted, tightening the armlock and drawing a whimper from Sherlock as pain soared through his arm. “You must have known.”

Sherlock shook his head, and John shoved him harder against the door, using his hips to force Sherlock forwards. Sherlock bit his lip, his cheek squashed against the glass and to his horror, he found his cock slowly hardening. 

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” John said. He tugged Sherlock’s hair to ensure he had Sherlock’s attention. “You’re going to go inside and you’re going to have a bath.”

Sherlock frowned. 

“A bath?” He asked but was cut off as John shoved him again. 

“You won’t do anything until I come in. Do you understand? Run a bath and sit in it. Don’t wash anything until I am there.”

Sherlock nodded slowly.

“Okay,” he said, and if he were being perfectly honest a bath did sound fantastic. Both he and John were soaked through now as the rain lashed at their backs and the lightning tore the sky apart. Sherlock was beginning to shiver from the cold. 

John let go of Sherlock and opened the door to the chalet. He pushed Sherlock over the threshold and stepped in too, then slammed and locked the door as Sherlock sped off to the bathroom.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops. Sorry that took so long, I’ve been absolutely swamped. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter! I’m really enjoying writing John like this, and Sherlock. 
> 
> \- indigospacehopper x

“This isn’t too hot, is it?” John asked. He sat down on the edge of the bath and rolled his jumper sleeves up. Rain lashed against the window until the view of the rolling hills behind the chalet were marred by grey.

Sherlock shook his head.

“No,” he said. “It isn’t.”

John raised an eyebrow.

“Sir,” Sherlock added quickly. “No, it wasn’t too hot, Sir. But,” he added after a second, “my arm hurts and I’m not sure why I’m having a bath.”

“Oh.” John smiled. He leaned down and kissed Sherlock’s temple. “I need you to be as relaxed as possible for me, plus,” he dipped his hand into the water to test the temperature. “I wanted to try something. Let me check your arm.”

He took Sherlock’s hand and brought it up to rest on his lap, then prodded and poked at Sherlock’s arm with such tender care that Sherlock could hardly believe he was the same man who had shoved him so ruthlessly against the door. His erection had diminished slightly in the time John had opened the door and Sherlock had settled down into the bath, but there was a whirlwind of thoughts in his head that he was still trying to comb his way through.

His breath hitched as John pressed down on the crook of his elbow, and it was with a painful twist that Sherlock remembered that it was John who had initially caused that pain. He stole a quick glance at the older man, watching him for any visible changes for the sudden shift in mood.  
Sherlock’s scrutiny drew no conclusions. 

“It might bruise slightly,” John said eventually, “but no permanent damage done.”

Sherlock nodded and brought his hand back down to his lap. He daren’t meet John’s eye, and instead stared resolutely at the large silver tap at the foot of the bath, waiting for John to say or do something.

John ruffled Sherlock’s hair as he stood, clearly seeing Sherlock’s internal struggle as he battled to come to terms with and understand what had John said outside. 

“I meant it, you know,” John sighed, turning the shower on. Sherlock gasped as cold water spilled over his head and ran down his back. 

“John!” Sherlock protested, but John ignored him. He turned the temperature dial.

“You are needy.” John continued. He crouched down next to the bath, resting his arms on the edge to balance himself. His eyes were as warm as a summer evening, the deep blue of the sun slowly beginning to set across the horizon.

Sherlock latched onto the warmth, sinking into the glow those eyes promised. He barely registered what John was saying to him.

“And sometimes I forget just how selfish you are, and just how much I give you every single day.” John reached up and stroked Sherlock’s wet hair back, then pulled away to push his jumper sleeves up to his elbows. “So, this weekend we’re making a change. This weekend, it’s my turn to be greedy. I’m going to take exactly what I want. I’m going to do exactly what I want, because Christ knows, Sherlock, I deserve it. And this,” John wrapped his hand around the base of Sherlock’s cock, earning a quiet groan from the detective. “This is mine.”   
He pulled his fist upwards, and Sherlock moaned softly, chasing John’s hand before John let go completely.

Sherlock nodded dumbly, watching as John reached over for the shampoo like he hadn’t even seen Sherlock’s cock, let alone touched it.

“And what do you want me to do?” Sherlock asked, need pooling through him. He needed John to touch him. “What do you need me to do?”

John poured a dollop of shampoo onto his hand. He rubbed it between his hands, then began carefully rubbing it into Sherlock’s hair. Sherlock’s shoulders loosened as he closed his eyes, letting John wash his hair and massage his temple at the same time.   
His arm still ached, and he shuffled slightly to ease some of the strain off it. 

“I need you to do exactly what I tell you, when I tell you,” John replied, rinsing the shampoo from Sherlock’s hair. He brushed through Sherlock’s sodden curls with his fingers splayed, ensuring all the bubbles had gone and turned the shower off.

“Because you need to be taken off that pedestal. You need to be taught a lesson, Sherlock, and I am the man to do it.” 

Suddenly, John gripped Sherlock’s curls tightly and tugged hard to tilt Sherlock’s head up to face him, John now standing over him. 

John bent lower and kissed Sherlock deeply, and Sherlock felt his heart flutter and falter, his brain stalling as John gently bit down on his bottom lip. Sherlock felt veins break and knew there would be a bruise in the morning, warmth spreading through his lips which were steadily becoming more red as John sucked it into his mouth. 

Sherlock melted into the kiss; the most tender but most possessive John had ever offered him. John pulled away a fraction of an inch, their lips barely separated. 

“And I saw how hard being shouted at made you.”  
John let go of Sherlock’s hair, and Sherlock felt hollow. He needed John. He needed John more than he had ever needed anyone.

“Oh, and look at that,” John chuckled. He straightened up and looked down at Sherlock’s completely erect cock, poking out of the water with a pathetic hope that made Sherlock blush. “Don’t worry,” he added, and Sherlock’s eyes widened as John undid his fly and his completely erect cock all but fell out of it’s denim confines. John chuckled again as Sherlock unconsciously licked his lips.

“Don’t touch it,” John said, tucking everything away again. He nodded towards Sherlock’s penis. “Finish cleaning yourself, dry yourself off, then come into the lounge. I have a present for you.”

Sherlock nodded, blushing furiously.

“Yes, sir,” he said, and John stooped to steal another kiss before he left Sherlock alone in the bathtub, somewhat bewildered, but utterly infatuated and craving more.

—

Sherlock hurried to get out of the bath as quickly as possible, stumbling and slipping on the bathroom tiles as he grabbed a towel and hurriedly dried himself, paying careful attention to not touch his cock. John would know, and he really didn’t want to upset John anymore than he apparently already had done. 

He and John were no strangers to the BDSM scene. It had been his idea at first, when he had expressed to John how much he loathed being top and how much he’d like to give himself up to someone completely. The same day, a man they were chasing had slapped Sherlock across the face and Sherlock had had to awkwardly conceal his burning erection. He was utterly humiliated, but John found it endearing. 

“It’s cute,” he said that evening as they cuddled on the sofa, his arms wrapped around Sherlock’s middle while Sherlock leaned against him. “Is that why you run after criminals so often?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“Shut up,” he said, and kissed him as a bribe. John chuckled against the kiss, more than happy to accept it. 

He had known that John was interested in furthering the realms of their sexual relationship, but he had severely under-estimated just how much John already knew and was willing to find out. How much further John wanted to go.

Sherlock had initially believed that John took to the relationship because it was what Sherlock wanted. Sherlock had instigated it, and while he knew John enjoyed it, he hadn’t quite realized just how much John enjoyed it.

Sherlock all but ran to the lounge, completely naked with the towel left crumpled on the bathroom floor.

While Sherlock was in the bathroom John had lit a roaring fire. Soft crackles and pops filled the room and drowned out the howling wind outside. 

Lightning danced across the sky, but Sherlock barely noticed it, his attention caught by his glorious boyfriend leaning against the mantlepiece, wearing jeans, soft red slippers, and a beige cashmere jumper Sherlock loved. He found it incredibly hot. This man, the soft, warm, John Watson, with his vast collection of jumpers and warm smile which lit up his whole face, was so capable of ripping him apart so easily.   
Sherlock’s heart swelled as John smiled at him, a black box in his hands.

“Come here,” John told him. He pointed at the floor in front of him, and Sherlock nodded and quickly knelt at John’s feet. “I’ve already told you how this is going to work,” John said, opening the box and inspecting the contents. 

Sherlock looked up at him, waiting, his hands behind his back. 

“I’m going to take what I want. You’re not going to complain. You’re going to thank me.” As he spoke, John palmed himself through his jeans.

Sherlock nodded.

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re going to take what I care to give you and you’re going to lap it up.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I will acknowledge your safeword,” John continued, “but this weekend is for me, Sherlock, and I am in absolute control. Do you understand that? This isn’t about you.”

Sherlock nodded, his stomach knotting. Acknowledging a safeword wasn’t the same as respecting it and following it, he noted. For a brief moment something akin to unease flitted through him, but when he looked up at John any feelings of fear that had risen, vanished. His heart swelled as he looked up at the man he loved, the man he knew loved him back. 

“Yes, sir.”

John smiled, but Sherlock noticed that the warmth usually etched into John’s face when he smiled had almost entirely vanished. With his back to the fire, his face was illuminated only by the light filtering in from outside, the grey, dying light that struggled to get through the hammering rain. Sherlock recoiled slightly, but the fire was warm as it seeped from behind John’s body and Sherlock yearned for the physical contact only John could offer him. He was a conflict of emotions, lust pulling him forwards while a nagging sense of unease tugged him ever so slightly back.

“Everyone, and I mean everyone, hates you,” he heard John say again, his brain supplying him with a small flashback of the beach. “You were so easy to manipulate.”

Sherlock closed his eyes.

John didn’t try to manipulate him. John didn’t hate him.

“Here’s your present.”

John crouched down in front of Sherlock and showed him the contents of the black box.   
It was a thick black leather collar, with a sharp silver buckle. A metal tag had been soldered onto it, with ‘Property of Dr Watson’ embossed into that.   
Sherlock was glad he was already on his knees as his legs went weak beneath him. 

“It’s beautiful,” he whispered, and straightened his posture as John wrapped it around his neck and buckled it in place. 

It was heavy, a constant presence Sherlock knew would be difficult to ignore. It was grounding. He grinned dopily at John, who in turn pulled Sherlock into a searing kiss which left Sherlock momentarily gasping for breath.

John hooked his finger around a metal loop on the collar and tugged Sherlock closer, and Sherlock whimpered his arousal.

“This isn’t coming off,” John told him sternly. “You’re mine now, Sherlock. You’re all mine.”

Sherlock nodded quickly, all thoughts of John’s sudden change in temperament were swept up with the raging waves outside in favour of complete adoration of John. Dr Watson. His owner.

“Present,” John instructed, and Sherlock did so at once.

He pressed his forehead against the ground and knitted his fingers at the back of his neck. Feeling the collar there was a welcome change as he pushed his knees up and straightened his legs, spreading them so that his hole was completely exposed, and his balls hung beneath him. 

John looked him up and down, and without warning smacked Sherlock’s arse with enough force as to make Sherlock jolt forwards. He gasped and John tutted. 

“That’s not acceptable, Sherlock,” John told him, before smacking again, hard. 

Sherlock managed to stay still, furiously withholding a whimper as he bit his lip. He felt his cock twitch, and then John cupped Sherlock’s balls.  
Surprised, Sherlock shuffled and rolled backwards into John’s hand, craving more.

“Don’t move, you disgusting little slut. I told you this was for me. Why are you trying to get something out of this?” John continued to massage Sherlock’s balls and Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut, desperately trying to keep still as his heart skipped a beat. He could feel his pulse against the collar, and he tensed in his resolve to keep as still as possible.

“I asked you a question,” John hissed. He let go of Sherlock’s balls and wrapped his hand around the base of Sherlock’s now painfully hard cock. 

“Answer me.”

Sherlock spluttered. Keeping completely still was more difficult than he’d anticipated. He wanted nothing more than to rut into John’s hand – sod the consequences. 

He rocked back, and then forwards, pushing into John’s fist. John immediately withdrew his hand and smacked Sherlock’s arse again. Small beads of precum splattered onto the floor beneath Sherlock and he groaned, making one desperate attempt to hump the air.

“This is what I mean,” John scorned. “You’re selfish. You’re greedy. Look at me.”

Sherlock shook his head.

“And to think I’ve just given you a present.” John folded his arms across his chest. “I was going to be nice, you know. I was even going to let you cum at some point.”

John put his foot on Sherlock’s back and shoved down, hard. Sherlock collapsed, landing squarely on his dick. He cried out as John squatted and sat down on Sherlock’s back. He reached forwards and forced Sherlock’s thighs apart. Sherlock was winded beneath him, turning his head so that he could breath as John’s weight concentrated on the small of his back. 

Later on Sherlock would reason that it was the fire he heard crack, because that’s what John had said it was, but at the time he yelled as John shifted his weight and pressed his knee into Sherlock’s back.

“John, please,” Sherlock gasped, wriggling and straining to get John off him. “Get off me.”

John stood up and Sherlock remained on the ground, squeezing his eyes shut. 

He was fine. He was okay.

The pain which had punctuated his back was slowly ebbing away but Sherlock daren’t move. He was at least grateful that John had relented, but he knew it was a close thing and he didn’t want to piss John off anymore than he had already done.

John was silent as he spread Sherlock’s legs a little further and took Sherlock’s balls in his hand again. Sherlock bit his lip and a lump formed in his throat as he willed himself to keep quiet.

“I’m not playing games anymore. Not this time,” John muttered. “If you want to keep me in your life this is how it’s going to be. You’re a needy, lonely little slut and I’m tired of you consistently disrespecting me.”

Sherlock nodded. He bit down gently on his bottom lip to stifle a moan, John’s words seemed to bypass his rational brain and sucker punch his arousal. It was better than being fucked mercilessly against the wall, John using all his force to keep him in place, keeping Sherlock lodged on his dick for hours…

“Cut it out.” John crouched and tugged Sherlock’s hair, making him look up. “What were you thinking about?”

“Nothing, sir,” he whimpered. “I’m sorry, sir.”  
John nodded slowly, his eyes narrow as he let go of Sherlock’s hair and ran a hand through the curls. Sherlock relaxed slightly, closing his eyes as he rested his cheek against the cold floor. 

And then suddenly, with no prior warning, John pulled hard on Sherlock’s balls. 

Sherlock yelled in pain, jerking to get up as John clasped something cold and metal around the top of Sherlock’s balls, forcing them apart. 

“I had this custom made,” John told Sherlock as Sherlock thrashed in vain. 

Sherlock could hear John fumbling around with something. He heard a zip and another metallic click, and as his balls were tugged lightly he realised that John had attached a leash to the cold metal ring which trapped his balls. He knew at once that cumming with the metal ring would be impossible, and if he did manage it extremely painful.

Sherlock’s cock jolted where it was trapped beneath him and he whimpered as a rush of endorphins surged through him. 

He could get no pleasure from his balls being trusted the way they were. It was entirely for John’s benefit. It wouldn’t stave off his erection, however, and Sherlock realised with a jolt that he was already leaking impossible amounts of precum.  
John chuckled. 

“On all fours,” John instructed. “Face me.”  
Slowly, Sherlock pushed himself up and crawled closer to John. John had freed his massive cock again, and was stroking it slowly while he clutched the end of the leash in the other hand. Sherlock watched with unadulterated fascination as beads of precum formed at the tip of John’s cock. He swallowed and the weight of the collar which worked with the image of John holding a leash directly connected to his balls was enough to make Sherlock forget any worries he had about John’s changing character. His magnificent penis hadn’t changed, after all, Sherlock reasoned.

John smiled at him, stuttering out a soft moan as he teased the head with his thumb.

“Look at you,” John whispered, wrapping the end of the leash around his fist so that there was no slack to it. Sherlock shuffled forwards, scared of damaging his balls as John tugged. “How heavy are your leashed balls? I’m going to keep them like this. I’m going to tie you up by your balls and keep you on edge, chasing that orgasm I am never going to let you have.”

John rocked forwards slightly and Sherlock opened his mouth, anticipating John’s orgasm with excitement as though it were his own. John didn’t come, however, and with pulled away his hand entirely to reveal a cock ring sat resolute at the base of his penis.

Sherlock had never hated anything more in his entire life. 

John chuckled, but was breathing hard as he pulled himself back from the brink.

He crouched down in front of Sherlock, leash still in his hand. With his free hand he ran his thumb over Sherlock’s bottom lip and Sherlock stared at him, pupils blown wide as John gently pulled his jaw open and put the end of the leash in Sherlock’s mouth.

“Hold it,” he said, and Sherlock bit down on the end of the leash, holding it in his mouth.  
John smiled and straightened up. He walked behind Sherlock and within seconds Sherlock’s hands were forced behind his back and his wrists were pulled together in tight handcuffs. 

Sherlock continued to hold the leash, his mouth slowly starting to water around it. He swallowed as best he could, but with his tongue trapped beneath the leather it was more difficult than he anticipated. 

John walked around to Sherlock’s front again and crouched down.

“Some people get off on pain,” he told Sherlock calmly. As he spoke, he traced his fingers along Sherlock’s shaft. Sherlock breathed hard around the leash, doing all he could to maintain eye contact and not close his eyes. “And it was a concept I never really understood. How could a person get pleasure from pain? And then I realised. Living with you, putting up with you, that was pain. That is my pain. Pretending to care about you?”

Sherlock’s eyes widened.

“As mundane as wiping my arse. And yet, there has been some pleasure in it. Pleasure in the fact that I can do this,” he reached down and squeezed Sherlock’s balls, hard, and Sherlock cried out in pain around the leash, “because of my years of suffering you.”

Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut and John chuckled.

He couldn’t look at John, not right now. His heart was on fire, burning as his cock flagged and he fought to keep still so as not to upset John anymore than he already had done. He needed more. The humiliation of holding the leash encasing his balls wasn’t enough. 

And yet, that deep seated arousal that had settled in the pits of his stomach lingered. The humiliation, the shame, John’s wicked smirk, folding his arms across his chest, being there, far away from everyone, as the storm raged on outside, unlocked feelings Sherlock didn’t know he possessed. His heart ached but he shivered as his cock grew, slowly turning purple while slithers of precum dripped all over the floor with each twitch. 

He had never been so aroused in all his life.


End file.
